Not a cell. This was an underworld.
He noticed the natural elements first. Stalactites, stalagmites, glittering ceilings and black pools of utterly still water; water and stone, entwined over time. But then he had seen the tables and candles. Sconces and chairs. He saw scrolls and books, jars sitting on natural stone ledges. There were life-sized figures, draped with armour and luscious fabrics. Someone seemed to live here, and he wondered if it was Band’orán himself.
These underground halls were below Analei.
Had Or’Talán known this place existed? He must have. And then truth sunk heavily into his bones. It would not be easy to find him down here.
He turned to the left. There was water further ahead, and before it stood a carved figure. He started. It was a woman, looking out over the still waters, but it was the crown upon her head that first gave away her identity.
Canusahéi. Alpine queen of Ea Uaré, mother of Rinon, Maeneth and Handir.
The world was slipping away from under him, as if he were suspended in mid-air. Understanding was just beyond his reach, brushing against his mind. Head spinning, breath too fast, his eyes dared wander further left, to the farthest wall.
There she was again, her portrait hanging there, surrounded by the light of sconces and candles, heavy drips of old wax around them, falling down the walls, a river of it. It was a shrine, he realised.
When Or’Talán had told him he was to marry Canusahéi, he had not cared, had not cared for anything at all, not even food. Nothing mattered, not even the love he had seen in her eyes for him. He had never loved anyone except Lássira; never would.
“No way to treat a king, I say.”
Band’orán.
“But then … you are king no more, Thargodén.” Band’orán stood a distance away from him and in his hands, the king’s crown. He twirled it around in his hand as he spoke.
“Rinon will be angry. His anger will lead him astray. The council will see to that.”
Thargodén knew he was right, but was unwilling to say it. Rinon’s one weakness was controlling his temper, and kings could not be seen to be volatile.
“There’s no point in your silence, Thargodén. Speak freely. You’re not leaving this place.”
“Is that your plan, then? Take me, force Rinon to take over, preempt his failure and then take the throne for yourself?”
“More or less. I must also deal with Handir. And with the bastard.”
Dread, deep despair clawed at his insides. “I thought you a man of state, not a murderer.”
“I am a ruler, Thargodén. Rulers do what they must for the good of their people, for the prosperity of the land.”
“Save your drivel for your hounds, Band’orán. If I am not leaving this place as you say, then follow your own advice and tell me the truth. Why do you really want my throne? Riches? Power? You already have those things. What is it that drives you to this?”
“Your father was cruel, don’t you think, nephew? How he made you suffer, for your love of her.”
The claws were back, begging him to lash out, lose his temper and …
“Don’t fight it, Thargodén. There is no reason. No one will ever know. Will you not curse me? Damn me to the pits of torment? Ah, but you think yourself king, and kings do not lose control, do they? They must be strong, be seen to be strong. And you are; it’s why I had to stop you.”
“Spoiling your plans, was I?” Quiet voice, wistful almost.
“Indeed. But no worries. Everything is accounted for. Should Rinon pass the test and keep his cool, perhaps the Silvans will want to rid themselves of him—for the mistreatment, you see. They don’t want Alpine lords. You should pray that he fails. There will be honour in his abdication to a stronger, better king.”
Something snapped, and Thargodén whirled around. When he spoke, it was almost a roar. “If you kill him, Band’orán—if you kill any of my children I will damn you, curse you, find a way for vengeance. I will skin you alive, disembowel you and leave you to watch!”
“You’ll be dead, you fool. Or will you come back a ghost? A houseless soul waving his phantom sword in the air. Then perhaps I won’t kill you. Perhaps I will leave you here, in this new world. Underground and out of sight, my little secret. There are merits to the idea.”
“If you want the throne, why not just take it? Be rid of me? Why kidnap me at all? Why didn’t you just kill me?”
“I could have. We killed a part of your retinue. I could have killed you all, I suppose. But you see, Thargodén, this is personal.”
“It’s the throne you want …”
“The throne is a boon, nephew. What I want is retribution.”
“Retribution? For what?” asked Thargodén. The stone below him was cold and damp. With the shackle around his ankle, he could stand, but after two steps the chain would tense, hold him back and so he remained seated, despite his growing feeling that something important was about to be revealed.
“For a life in shadow.” Band’orán said it almost wistfully, and Thargodén wondered if he even remembered that he was standing here in front of him.
“When you are born next to a sun, your own light is lost. Flooded, drowned. Nobody sees it. Nobody cares that you are there.” Band’orán smiled fondly. “He was the only one who did—care, I mean.”
“Who?” Thargodén was confused.
“Orta. He thought me weak, incapable of finding my own way. Wanted to help me, as if I couldn’t help myself. Every time he tried, he would block my light even more. He just needed to step away.”
“You loved your brother.”
“Yes. Yes, I did. Everyone loved my brother, Thargodén. Except you, perhaps.”
Thargodén held his breath. Band’orán was talking to him like a friend, reminiscing and smiling, and yet here they were, in some underground palace, prisoner and jailer. King and traitor.
“You did hate him, didn’t you?” Band’orán stared at him, cocked his head to one side.
“For a time.”
“Oh, come. You can do better than that, nephew. Tell me, did you ever want to kill him, for what he did to you? To her?”
“No,” Thargodén shook his head, confused.
“He broke your heart, broke hers. You thought you could save her, though, didn’t you? Thought you could keep her sane by creating a child.”
Thargodén’s face hardened, like freshly chiselled stone, sharp and cutting. “And what would you know about that?” he whispered. Dangerous voice. Warning eyes.
Band’orán smiled again, a smile that did not touch his eyes. “Everything. I know everything.”
14
Communion
“Lord of the forests, hear the mind of Aria, hear the voice of the world as it whispers its secrets to those who can hear.”
Book of Disciples: Sebhat
The land was changing. It was still waterlogged and open, but now, the mountains hugged the rugged coastline, and the beaches were sandy and sprawling. Fel’annár spotted a brown bear lumbering through the shallow pools, off on some fishing mission. Cubs would be waiting in a nearby cave, wolves alert should the mother find some distraction along the way. Yet although it was all grey stone and jagged rock, toasted sands and clear pools of strange treasures, there was green, too. The forest was still some distance away, but even so, it was a sign that soon the land would change yet again. It was a transition, thought Fel’annár, from sea to forest, a mid-way place he thought quite beautiful, suggestive of the watery world that Ramien had loved so much, and the forest he himself yearned to return to.